Rogue in Porcelain

by Anthea Fraser

  Sybil said worriedly, ‘It will cause a lot of ill-feeling, surely, among your competitors.’

  ‘Only, as I said, in the short term. They’ll immediately be hell-bent on producing their own versions. By means of osmosis, once something new is invented, in no time it’s being manufactured worldwide. We’re the first, that’s all.’

  They returned to the sitting room and Sybil refilled their coffee cups.

  ‘I hear you’ve nobly offered to sort through the family archives,’ Charles remarked. ‘I hope you’ve reached a satisfactory financial arrangement.’

  ‘Finlay did mention it, but—’

  But they’d been interrupted by Ginnie’s call, and it wasn’t her place to mention it.

  ‘I’ll see to it. Only right you should be recompensed for your time. I’ve flicked through the boxes myself, but it’s mostly ephemeral correspondence, from what I could see. Not really worth keeping, but my father was an inveterate hoarder. If you can sort it into reasonable shape, we’d all be grateful and you might possibly find a few nuggets of interest.’

  It had been an eventful morning, Rona reflected as she drove home, but its two most outstanding occurrences had both, for different reasons, to be kept to herself.

  ‘Max? What the devil has that wife of yours got herself into now?’

  Max smiled to himself. ‘Hello, Father. How are you?’

  ‘Never mind me, it’s Rona we’re all concerned about.’

  ‘No need to be, I assure you. If you’re referring to the body that was found, she was merely an innocent bystander.’

  ‘But they’re saying she knew the girl in question?’

  ‘Who’s saying?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Roland Allerdyce returned testily. ‘The amorphous and ubiquitous “they”. Cynthia heard it somewhere. Did she or didn’t she know her?’

  ‘Yes, briefly. But that doesn’t put her in any danger.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ his father barked. ‘Has a motive for the death been established?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Well, then. This girl might have seen something she shouldn’t have while she was actually with Rona.’

  ‘Hey!’ Max protested. ‘What are you trying to do? Put the fear of God into me?’

  ‘I’m trying to ensure you look after her. You seem to be taking this very lightly, if I may say so.’

  ‘Father, it’s her work, and it would take a better man than I to keep her from doing it.’

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ A pause. ‘Why don’t the pair of you take a break? Come up here for a week or so, till the thing blows over?’

  ‘We can’t get away at the moment, but we’ll certainly bear it in mind.’

  ‘It’s the moment I’m concerned about,’ his father said darkly.

  Fifteen

  DI Charlie Harris raised his tankard. ‘Confusion to our enemies,’ he toasted.

  Barrett followed suit. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  ‘So how’s it going?’

  ‘Frankly, it’s not. We’re no further forward than when we last spoke. Everything we’ve managed to get so far is negative.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Oh, the usual. Checking hospitals to see if anyone’s been in with a suspicious cut – the killer might have been wounded if Julia put up a struggle. Laundries and dry-cleaners asked about blood-stained clothing. You know the kind of thing. We drew a blank all round.’

  He sighed disconsolately and drank some beer. ‘Then both de Salis and his missus were likely suspects, but—’

  ‘His missus?’ Harris interrupted.

  Barrett nodded. ‘Her more than him, actually. She’s pretty screwed up, and if she learned her old man was still seeing Julia, I can see her putting the knife in. Literally. Had to scrap that idea, though; both were safely and irrefutably ensconced in their shop till five thirty, and went straight from there to a parents’ evening at their daughter’s school. Cast-iron alibis, damn them.

  ‘Then we had hopes of one of the guys Julia met after work, but he turned out to be in the clear.’

  ‘Which presumably leaves you with the ex-husband?’

  ‘Exactly; always the most likely bet. As luck would have it, he wasn’t at the factory that afternoon; he’d driven to Aylesbury for a three thirty appointment, but the bloke had got his dates mixed and was in London. That checks out, by the way.’

  ‘So what did he do instead?’

  ‘Took the opportunity to buy himself some underwear, and was able to supply receipts. Then went for a cuppa before driving home.’

  ‘Back to the pottery?’

  ‘No; he reckoned it wasn’t worth going into the office. The clothes receipt confirms the time he was in the store, but no one remembers him in the café, which according to him filled in half an hour or so. That thirty minutes could be crucial in fixing the time he arrived back in Nettleton, where he lives. For that matter, since no one saw him at his flat, there’s no proof he didn’t make a detour to Chilswood.’

  ‘What motive would he have?’

  Barrett shrugged. ‘She could have asked him to meet her, tried to make a comeback, and he lost it. Word is it was an acrimonious divorce. Or, contrariwise, he might have thought she wanted him back, been amenable, then discovered she didn’t, and regarded it as a second betrayal.’

  ‘But in either case, would he have gone to meet her armed with a knife? Seems unlikely.’

  ‘Granted it would be more plausible if a penknife had done the damage. Unless, of course –’ Barrett brightened momentarily – ‘she was the one who’d brought it, thinking for some reason she might need to defend herself. Surprising how often the victim’s killed with his or her own weapon.’

  He finished his beer. ‘But as it stands at the moment, we’ve only Curzon’s word for what he did between three thirty and six, when his brother phoned to give him the news.’

  Harris shook his head sympathetically. ‘Ever wish mobiles hadn’t been invented?’

  ‘Do I ever? Time was when you knew where someone was when he answered his phone.’

  ‘So what’s your next step?’

  ‘Another round of questioning and continuing enquiries, both here and in Reigate. In the meantime, the press are on us like a pack of wolves, thanks to the victim being a Curzon.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Harris suggested wickedly, ‘you should enlist the services of your journalist friend.’

  ‘Don’t even joke about it. I’m expecting her to turn up any minute with the culprit’s head on a platter.’

  ‘Figuratively speaking, I trust.’

  ‘Either way would suit me,’ said Ed Barrett.

  Lindsey arrived back from lunch to find Hugh waiting on the street outside the office. Her mind had been so totally centred on the evening ahead that for a moment she stared at him blankly.

  ‘Don’t you recognize me?’ he asked shortly. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s so long since I saw you.’

  ‘Hugh! What are you doing here?’

  ‘It seemed to be the only way to get hold of you. You’ve not returned any of my emails or phone calls.’

  ‘I’m – sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been busy.’

  She moved aside to let Jonathan enter the building, ignoring his conspiratorial wink, though she saw Hugh flush, and guessed he’d seen it.

  He said with heavy irony, ‘If you have your diary or Filofax to hand, perhaps I can make an appointment.’

  ‘Hugh, I haven’t time for this. My lunch hour’s over and I must get back to work.’

  ‘It will take two minutes.’

  With bad grace, she fumbled in her shoulder bag for her diary. If this evening went well, Dominic might suggest a further date, and she didn’t, she thought uncharitably, want to be bogged down with Hugh.

  She flipped open her diary and turned back a couple of pages. ‘We had dinner two weeks ago today,’ she told him. ‘Hardly a lifetime ago.’

  ‘It is, when I want to make love to you.�
�

  ‘Sh!’ She glanced about her anxiously, seeing a passer-by’s mouth twitch. ‘A lot has happened in the interim.’

  ‘Ah yes. I saw Rona’d got herself in the news again.’

  ‘I went to stay with Mum for a few days,’ Lindsey said coldly. ‘Not that I have to account to you for my movements.’

  He sighed. ‘Why do we always get off on the wrong foot?’

  ‘Because you have two left ones. I can meet you for lunch tomorrow,’ she added quickly, to cut off further conversation. ‘Will that do?’

  ‘Faute de mieux.’

  ‘Well, it’s all I can offer at the moment. One o’clock at the Bacchus?’

  He held her eyes for a long minute. Then he said levelly, ‘I’ll be there,’ turned on his heel, and walked away.

  The doorbell rang at three thirty, and Avril, who’d been on edge since lunchtime, hurried to answer it. To her surprise, Sarah was not alone on the doorstep. Beside her stood a tall, balding man in casual clothes, who was regarding her with interest.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Parish,’ Sarah said. ‘Meet my dad. He insisted on giving you the once-over.’

  ‘Not true,’ corrected her father calmly. ‘I was coming to Marsborough anyway, and thought I’d like to see where Sarah will be spending the next few months.’

  He held out his hand with a smile. ‘Guy Lacey. I’m grateful to you for offering my daughter a home.’

  ‘Anyone would think,’ Sarah remarked acidly, ‘that I was twelve years old, and starting boarding school.’

  ‘Well, you are going to a new school, poppet.’

  She flung him an exasperated glance, and Avril laughed. ‘I don’t know why we’re standing on the doorstep. Do come in. If you take your things straight up, Sarah, your father can see your room. Then perhaps you’d like a cup of tea?’

  Sarah opened her mouth – to decline, Avril suspected – but her father got in first.

  ‘We would indeed. Thank you.’ He lifted the case again, and followed Sarah up the stairs, while Avril hurried to the kitchen to switch on the kettle and put the batch of scones she’d made in the oven to reheat. She liked what she’d seen of Guy Lacey, the latent humour in his eyes and his easy manner. He obviously had the measure of his headstrong daughter.

  When they joined her minutes later in the sitting room, he stood for a moment, looking about him appreciatively, then walked over to the corner table and studied the family photographs.

  ‘Twin daughters?’ he enquired, and, at her nod, ‘Bet they were a handful!’

  ‘They had their moments,’ Avril conceded. ‘They went to Belmont Primary, by the way.’

  ‘We drove past it on the way here. It looks nice and spacious – plenty of windows. I’ve a thing about light.’

  ‘Comes of being an electrical engineer,’ put in Sarah drily, and he laughed. Then, glancing back at the photos, he grew serious. ‘And it’s one of them who had that nasty experience in Chilswood?’

  Avril’s heart started pounding. So that was why he’d accompanied Sarah. And, in doing so, forced her hand; she could no longer remain silent about her own role.

  ‘Rona, yes,’ she answered, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. She squared her shoulders, and looked straight at Guy Lacey. ‘If you’d like to sit down,’ she added, ‘there’s something you should know.’

  After Sarah’s initial exclamation, they sat in silence as she told them of Rona’s meeting with Julia and her brief stay in Sarah’s bedroom, and the silence continued when she’d finished speaking.

  Then Guy Lacey turned to his daughter. ‘Any comment, poppet?’

  ‘It’s a bit – unnerving,’ Sarah said.

  ‘It’s not as though anything happened in that room,’ Avril put in anxiously.

  ‘No, but it still brings it home rather.’

  She steeled herself to say, ‘If you’ve changed your mind about coming here, I shall quite understand.’

  Lacey said quickly, ‘Oh, I’m sure there’s no question of that, is there, Sarah?’

  The girl hesitated a moment, and Avril held her breath. Then she said, ‘Not really. The room seems very comfortable, and it’s so convenient for the school.’

  Her father added, ‘It’s good of you to be so frank with us. Thank you. I hadn’t realized your daughter actually knew the victim. That must have made it much worse for her – and, of course, for you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Avril drew a deep breath. ‘Well, now we’ve got that out of the way, I’ll bring the scones in, and we can have tea.’

  As the meal progressed, her liking for Guy Lacey increased. There was a family resemblance between father and daughter, she noted; Sarah had inherited her father’s grey eyes, though the expression in them was quite different, and they had the same shaped mouth. He wasn’t as bald as Avril first thought; although his forehead was high, his hair – dark and generously sprinkled with grey – was still plentiful over the top and back of his head. She guessed he was in his mid to late fifties, but the casual clothes – open-neck shirt, sweater and jeans – made him seem younger. Tom, she remembered, had refused point-blank to wear jeans after turning fifty – mutton dressed as lamb, he called it.

  Eventually, Lacey put his plate on the coffee table and stood up. ‘I must be on my way. That was great, Mrs Parish, thank you. It’s good to have met you, and I hope there are no further traumas for either you or your daughter.’

  Sarah went with him to the door, and Avril collected the tea things together. The conversation she’d been dreading was behind her, and she still had her lodger. For the moment, that was enough.

  Oliver Curzon rang his cousin’s doorbell just after six, and it was answered by Emma.

  ‘Hi, Oliver; come to collect Millie?’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  ‘Come in. They’re upstairs playing a board game at the moment. They were running wild, but I decided that after a large tea, it was time to settle down a bit.’

  ‘Quite right, and I’m glad about the large tea. Millie’s fussy about her food, and Sally was hoping she wouldn’t get a request for pasta the minute she was over the doorstep.’

  ‘Little chance of that. Go through to the sitting room; Sam’s there.’

  She went to the foot of the stairs and called up. ‘Victoria! Uncle Oliver’s here; could you both come down, please?’

  The anticipated wail of protest greeted her. ‘We’re in the middle of a game, Mummy! Can we finish it?’

  ‘If it doesn’t take too long.’

  Emma joined the men in the sitting room. ‘Could they have a few minutes’ grace to finish their game?’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Oliver agreed.

  ‘Time for a beer, then,’ Sam said firmly. ‘How about you, darling?’

  ‘Not at the moment, thanks.’

  As her husband went to get it, Emma said, ‘You must be desperately worried about Nick. How’s he coping with all this?’

  Oliver looked grave. ‘With difficulty, I think; especially since both the police and the press keep on at him.’

  ‘The press?’

  ‘They’re always asking if he’s any comment, and flashing cameras at him. And the police are worrying like terriers at that visit to Aylesbury, going over and over what he did when the customer didn’t show, what time he got home, etcetera.’

  Oliver reached up and took the glass Sam handed him. ‘Thanks. We’re talking about Nick. Ironically, it’s the fact that he wasn’t anywhere near Chilswood that’s counting against him; if he’d been at the factory with the rest of us, there’d be no problem.’

  ‘They’re bound to come up with something sooner or later,’ Sam said comfortingly.

  ‘Then let’s hope it’s sooner,’ returned Nick’s brother.

  Two hours later, when Victoria was in bed and they’d had their meal, Sam flicked a glance at his wife.

  ‘What’s the matter, love? You’re very quiet this evening.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said evasively.

  ‘This bu
siness with Julia getting you down? Unfortunately, all we can do is weather it till something breaks.’

  Emma gazed into the fire. ‘Why did Oliver say Nick wasn’t in Chilswood that afternoon?’

  Sam looked at her in surprise. ‘Because he wasn’t; he was in Aylesbury.’

  ‘Yes, but after that.’

  ‘He went home. Em –’ Sam leaned forward, suddenly anxious – ‘what is it?’

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and frightened. ‘Oh, Sam, I saw him! In Chilswood.’

  Sam went still. ‘That afternoon? You couldn’t have.’

  ‘But I did! I was on the kerb waiting to cross the road, and he drove past. He didn’t see me – he was looking straight ahead – but he passed within feet of me.’

  Sam moistened his lips. ‘What time was this?’

  ‘About five o’clock. I’d just dropped Victoria off at Brownies.’

  ‘Why haven’t you mentioned it before?’

  ‘To be honest, I’d forgotten all about it. Naturally it didn’t seem important at the time, and it only fell into place when Oliver said he hadn’t been near Chilswood. And he had.’

  She looked worriedly at her husband’s tense face. ‘What shall we do?’

  Lindsey lay immobile in bed, her eyes wide open in the dark. Whatever she’d expected from the evening behind her, it was nothing like the way it had panned out.

  The first surprise had been the chauffeur-driven car, the second, the information that they were driving to London for dinner at the Savoy. She’d been expecting to be taken to either the Clarendon or Serendipity, the new restaurant everyone was talking about, and she’d had a moment of panic that she wasn’t smartly enough dressed. But that was Dominic’s fault for not briefing her. He was wearing a clerical grey suit, white shirt and blue silk tie and looked, she thought, very suave and elegant.

  ‘How did the family lunch go?’ he asked, as the chauffeur turned out of the drive into Fairhaven, the cul-de-sac where she lived. So he’d not forgotten being turned down in its favour.

  ‘Dramatically,’ she replied. ‘One of the party went into labour and had to be rushed to hospital.’

  ‘Good heavens! I hope you’d all managed to eat first?’